Staycation Breakfast Blog 03 - Starbucks Primrose Valley

The Seventh of August Two Thousand and Twelve. Tuesday.

Well, how many times can someone let you down before you fall out of love with them? No, this isn't a whiny, introspective blog (although, I guess, it is). It's just that I caught the bus out to the Blue Dolphin holiday camp looking forward to a traditional Brown Breakfast (egg and cheese butty, hash browns, mini pancakes an syrup washed down with some OJ (no bits)) and Burger King (there isn't one in Scarborough town centre) have let me down again. They did it at Piccadilly station, and they did it in Islington when I was having breakfast with the American Pop Cultural Attaché - opening late. On that last occasion we decamped to Starbucks instead, and that's what I did today, only on this occasion the nearest one was two holiday camps over in Primrose Valley.

To be honest, that was always the plan anyway. I'd been curious about the camps and wanted to check 'em out. They're both static caravan affairs with centralised shops/food/kid stuff bits. Primrose Valley did remind me a bit of The Prisoner cos everyone seemed to be travelling around on these four-person cycle things that evoked the Mini Mokes of The Village.

So, breakfast. There was this mushroom croissant concoction that didn't appeal so I went for a not particularly breakfasty mozzarella panini (olives and pesto - v nice) and a coffee frappucino with an extra shot and topped with cream. I suppose more brunchy than anything.

I was enjoying it very much when this young Geordie lass of about nine - she was waiting while her mum was in the loo - told me I had cream round my mouth. I gave her the traditional reply that I was saving it for later. This didn't faze her, but I was taken aback when she suddenly asked if I had two boys. Then I realised she had seen the photo on my phone...

Before her mum returned I was subjected to the third degree: was I on holiday alone? Where did live? Where did I work? Will I be seeing my boys? I'd been told not to talk to strange girls, but she was very sweet even though I was glad of a breather when her mum got back.

So yesterday was films. I started with my regulation Doctor Who RDA with a bit of Daleks' Invasion Earth - 2150AD. This was only one of two films that I had seen before on this day and I think I do still prefer it to its predecessor Dr Who and the Daleks even if that has better music. That flying saucer is still ace.

Apart from that I hadn't really decided what I was going to watch at home that day. I had my computer on, so I looked at the files that I had transferred from my old PVR but still hadn't gotten around to watching. That led me to In Bruges, which is a real slow burner but really blackly funny in places. I looked up the writer and director Martin McDonagh and saw that he was one of those guys who only does something every now and then but seems to put his all into it. Will keep an eye out for more stuff by him.

The middle of my afternoon triple bill was JCVD, the rather odd Belgian film with Jean Claude Van Damme playing a fictionalised version of himself (I know, that seems to be all the rage at the mo). It was very good, but I guess it shows that there are dangers in that level of self awareness as he's now gone and spoilt it all by doing those hopeless beer adverts.

I had my tea watching Attack the Block, which was better than I was expecting. To be honest, I'd shied away from the post-Shaun of the Dead, exec produced by Edgar Wright vibe that I'd thought it was trying to ride (can you ride a vibe? Why didn't I just use 'wave' and 'surf'? It's a cliché but at least it would have made sense) - even the announcer (this was a Channel 4 recording) made the tenuous link that this 'starred', quote, 'Simon Pegg's mate Nick Frost'. As it turned out, it was its own thing and all the better for it.

Then it was off to the cinema to see Moonrise Kingdom. I could watch the way Wes Anderson puts stuff together all day, but I felt the tone was a bit uncertain in this one. I don't know if that was because of the contrast between the earnest performances of the the child actors against the more knowing ones of the adults but it seemed a bit uneven. Still fantastic, though.

Back home I finally got around to watching A Clockwork Orange. Yes, I hadn't seen it until yesterday. Another one of those 'everybody goes on about it so I'm going to be contrary' scenarios. Anyway, this was a gorgeous-looking HD version taken off ITV1 - it looked brilliant. And, yes, I see what all the fuss was about now. Kubrick obviously knows what he's doing.

I finished off the day with a film I had seen before, but not for a while, Enter the Dragon for no other reason that Bruce Lee is just cool. Remember, there is no such thing as an opponent because 'I' does not exist and the highest technique is to have no technique. Or something. A brilliant end to my filmathon.

Strange little links too: hadn't planned it but two films ended up being set in Belgium; there was Godfrey Quigley in two of them and, er, well that's about it, really. So there you are.

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Staycation Breakfast Blog 02 - Rendezvous Café

The Sixth of August Two Thousand and Twelve. Monday.

Hello. Just popping in to show you a picture of my breakfast. Here it is:

This was at the Rendezvous Café here in Scarborough on the corner of Westborough and Northway.

You get exactly what you pay for at the Rendezvous. It's not the best food in the world, but it's unfussy. In my veggie fried breakfast I want sausages, hash browns and egg and that's exactly what I got here.

I had the good fortune to live with a bus driver for some years and back when she worked full time if she ordered jam and toast while she was in uniform she (and any hangers-on) would get a discount.

They also do a very good nut roast dinner (three scoops of mash!) and I'll probably have a go at that sometime in the hols, probably after the exertions of next week.

So yesterday was comics day and it went something like this:

Started off with the reprint of Incredible Hercules 138 and 139 from Mighty World of Marvel.

More Hercules in Chaos War 5 (the end of Greg Pak and Frank Van Lente's superb run of Hercules stories - funny, clever and with a very dry line in sound effects...

Along with Heroes for Hire 1 and Avengers Academy 5 all reprinted in the latest Mighty World of Marvel.

Paul Cornell's Saucer Country 1

More UK reprints: Batman and Robin 3 and 4, plus Batman 8 from issue 2 of Titan's new Batman anthology.

Parts 1 to 6 of Avengers: The Children's Crusade from the UK Collectors Edition Avengers Assemble - Allan Heinberg and Jim Cheung's follow up to their excellent Young Avengers run.

The conclusion of Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill's latest volume of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Century: 2009

Mark Millar reprints in CLINT nos. 2.1 and 2.2 featuring Super Crooks, The Secret Service and Hit-Girl.

Issues 2 to 5 of IDW's Doctor Who comic featuring the 11th Doctor, Amy and Rory.

And then I finished the day with a marathon of Ultimate Spider-Man, reading issues 113 to 128 digitally, 129 to 133 - and Annual 3 - in a premiere hardback, before going digital again for the two Ultimatum Requiem issues. Phew! This is still my favourite Brian Michael Bendis comic and these particular issues feature some outstanding art from Stuart Immonen, a favourite of mine. Loving Bendis' work on the character of Miles Morales, the new Ultimate Spider-Man - it's boss.

Right, films today. Let's see what's on.

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Staycation Breakfast Blog 01 - Francis Tea Rooms

The Fifth of August Two Thousand and Twelve. Sunday.

Hooray! Hooray! It's a holi-holiday!

Next Sunday I'll be taking my sons and heirs on a whirlwind tour of capital cities and theme parks, but in the meantime I'm enjoying a 'staycation' here in my beautiful home of Scarborough. A lovely quiet few days decompressing before it all goes crazy next week. Weather's looking good - warm but not too hot and a minimum of rain. So it's a perfect opportunity to digest my favourite things in the world: food and culture!

Why do people insist in blogging/tweeting/tumblring pictures of stuff they're eating? It's tedious and typical of the lack of imagination behind most people that when presented with the instant communication opportunities of social media that this is what they fall back on. In an attempt to get to the bottom of this I'm going to post pictures of my breakfast for the next five days!

It's usually toast or bagels for me - occasionally a Weetabix or two. In the past, when I've gone on holiday I've opted for the cooked breakfast as a treat, only to be too bloated by day three to persist with this 'luxury'. Nevertheless, even though I have perfect access to my own toaster this week I have resolved to have breakfast in a different location each day. Today it was the quaint Francis Tea Rooms on South Street just round the corner from my flat.

We've gone for the scrambled egg on toast here, with a lovely extra slice of toast. Always big chunky toast at Francis, fab if a bit expensive.

But that's not all. Not only will there be a different(ish) breakfast each day. I will also be spending each day dedicating myself to consuming tasty morsels from a different cultural medium each day. Today, I will be immersing myself exclusively in the world of comic books (plus ça change...). Tomorrow, it will be movies; Tuesday, it's audio and radio stuff; Wednesday will be books; and Thursday will be your friend and mine, telly stuff. It's my intention to let you know what I've been into in the following day's breakfast blog. I can tell you now that there will be a Doctor Who element to each day...

Yes, I know I always come up with these grand schemes and don't always complete (where's that novel you were writing, Vin? (it's still coming, I promise!)), but this is only five days so even I can't make a hash of it.

Can I?

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Alien Cat on a Train

The Twenty-Fifth of July Two Thousand and Twelve. Thursday.

Anyway, so I was getting the train back from Manchester to Scarborough. The usual thoughts going through my head - should I get chips on the way home or would a bowl of Super Noodles do me for tea. When this cat climbed up on my table.

'Is it all right if I sit here, boss?' he asked.

'Oh yeah, just make yourself at home, why don't you?' I replied and I moved the packet of Barbecue Hula Hoops I'd had open on the table. Didn't want cat hairs in there.

'What's with all the talking?' I asked.

'Don't get uncool,' replied the cat. 'This isn't the quiet carriage.'

'No, I mean being a cat and talking.'

He stared at me crazy, crazy style.

'I am not of this Earth, human! What think you of that!'

And then he gave a bizarre ear-piercing miaow that coupled with his odd grasp of grammar convinced me of his non-terrestrial origins. That was enough to trigger an age old memory.

'I've just remembered a competition I entered when I was at junior school,' I told him. He didn't seem to be interested in this and went about his own indifferent feline affairs. But I persisted.

'The Disney film The Cat from Outer Space was coming out and we had to draw what we thought such a creature would look like. I'm not much of an artist, but I put considerable thought into my rendering of a green cat in a spacesuit with annotations showing various scientific features of interest. I can still remember the teacher's bemused expression - it wasn't as accomplished as the work of others but it was fabulous frankly and I still recall the disappointment from the teacher's lack of appreciation, nay, her mild mockery even.'

That's when the cat on the table turned to me and said:

'Man, I love that film!'

 (I don't know if he was saying 'Man' in a kind of 'dude' type of way or whether he was just calling me a man like he'd called me a human earlier.)

Anyroad up, that seem to improve his mood. So I thought I'd chance my arm and move the conversation on.

'What do you think of The Gnome-Mobile?' I asked him.

'Don't make me hurt you,' he hissed.

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Terry's Holiday and the Poor People of Paris

The Twenty-Fourth of June Two Thousand and Twelve. Sunday.

Yes, I've heard the theme music to Pot Black. But until today I didn't know who Winifred Atwell was.

I was giving my flat its quarterly tidy/half-arsed clean with Paul O'Grady on Radio 2 on in the background. He played a tune from the 50s that I immediately recognised. It was the Man With a Stick singing about his holiday!

Funny story there: A friend of mine held a 'hat party' where everybody was encouraged to wear an humorous hat. I elected to stretch the definition somewhat and made my own version of the Man With a Stick's helmet, complete with drawings of interesting things I had seen that week (wish I could remember what those things were. Ah well.) Unfortunately, I got the impression that people thought I had come as a member of the Ku Klux Klan as I was getting disgusted looks from all and sundry. This despite the fact I had a big stick (as in 'Man With a Stick') which had, under the prerequisite bag, a roll-on deodorant with a skull sellotaped to it stuck on the end. I'm not really a party person.

Anyway, turns out the track Paul was playing was actually No1 for a couple of weeks in 1956. It was The Poor People of Paris by the aforementioned Winifred Atwell. It was brilliant. Here she is in full effect:

Bit odd the timing of that last caption.

Another of her hits was The Black and White Rag and that was the one that was used as the theme to Pot Black. Honestly, read her Wikipedia entry, she's brilliant. I can't believe I'd never heard of her. She discovered Matt Monro for goodness' sake!

As for The Poor People of Paris, a little while before Winifred's version it was also a chart topper in the US for Les Baxter and his orchestra (good ol' Les). Apparently, it's based on a French song called La goualante du pauvre Jean (The Ballad of Poor John) and it's a mistranslation of pauvre Jean as pauvre gens (poor people) that gave the song its English name.

What's that? You want to hear Les' version? Go on, then:

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A Pair of Size Elevens

The Sixteenth of May Two Thousand and Twelve. Wednesday.

I hate shoe shopping. I'm not blessed with any sort of fashion sense, so I have no idea what I'm supposed to be wearing. As long as it's comfortable and keeps my socks from getting dirty I'm happy.

With summer ostensibly just around the corner I thought I'd better buy myself something a bit lighter to wear on my feet instead of the steel-capped work shoes that form my regular footwear. I think I'm still a vegetarian, so if I'm buying shoes I try to avoid leather. I keep saying I'll go for a pair of vegan Doc Marten's one day, but have you seen how much they are? No, I utilise the time honoured mathematical formula of working out how many pairs of cheaper shoes I would get through in the time a decent, better-made pair would last. I think I've got the ratio just about in my favour.

Here's the canvas whatnots I bought today:

Not that I'm superstitious, but apparently it's bad luck to put new shoes on a table. With this in mind I rooted out my ironing board (don't think I've actually done any ironing this year, yet) and put them on that instead. I'm not sure what sort of luck that will bring - probably wrinkle free.

(As an aside, I think they're on the Wii again upstairs. There's a lot of noise and my windows are squeaking and everything and there are no sex sounds so I think it's all video game related)

So that's me shoes sorted out for the next six months or so. But, much like the proverbial bus of legend, you wait for one pair of shoes and another turns up at the same time!

I was sat on my perch at work, explaining the restrictions on a Super Off Peak Return ticket to a random bystander when I was offered a pair of shoes by my colleague. They were his father's, the late and sorely missed John Clough (station supervisor par excellence and founder of Clough Trains Northern). Brand new work shoes in my size, they were on offer if I wanted them. As I said, I hate shoe shopping so to be presented with a pair as a feet accompli (Ay thang yew!) was too good an opportunity to turn down. Here's what they look like:

Haven't put the ironing board away yet, so I thought I'd use it again. Flash shows up how lovely and shiny they are. Yes, they're leather. Yes, I'm a hypocrite. But for work nothing else is really suitable.

It's a bit odd wearing shoes that belonged to someone who has since passed on. I once took a trip around Europe in a pair of Nike flip-flops that were once worn by a deceased uncle of mine. But that's another story (just imagine the Eiffel Tower, the Peggy Guggenheim in Venice, the Atomium and the Temple Bar and you'll have a vague idea of what transpired).

I did have a pair of jet black Converse once. They were pretty cool.

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City 'Til I Die

The Fifteenth of May Two Thousand and Twelve. Tuesday.

What qualifies you as a football fan? Anybody can say they follow a team. What do you have to do to be allowed to bathe in the reflected glory of 'your' team's success? When are you a proper fan?

I haven't been to a City match in years. The last time was for my one and only visit to the Etihad/City of Manchester Stadium/Eastlands once for a rather dour goalless draw against Birmingham City. A bit of googling has filled in the details - it was on the 8 February 2004. I remember now, I took my dad for his birthday.

Ah, dad. With your tales of Bell, Summerbee and Lee. You painted me blue in a town of red devils (Salford RLFC being the original Red Devils, of course...) I can't blame you entirely - going against the popular tide appealed to my outsider mentality. But it was a bit rough at times. Losing the FA Cup. Losing the pigging Full Members Cup (remember that?) Relegation to the third tier of English football.

But it's ace being a City fan. It's funny and strange and stupid. Football might not be a huge thing in my life, but funny, strange and stupid are, so City are a perfect fit. This blog isn't about my experiences with the men in sky blue, though. It's about my claim to the glory of the fact that Manchester City are the 2011/12 league champions.

I had a chance to go to the FA cup semi-final last year (you know, the one against United, that we won on our way to winning our first trophy in 35 years) but turned it down as I had a long standing family commitment. There were more important things in my life than football.

So am I a fan? What right have I to wave my inflatable banana in triumph eight years after going to my last game? Is it enough to say I stood in the Kippax in front of Curly Watts 25 years ago?

Yes, and I'll tell you for why.

I never gave up.

I kept on listening and hoping until the final whistle. I couldn't believe the reports of people who were leaving the ground while there was still five minutes to play! I watched Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory on Sunday for the first time in years. There's a line in there where Charlie says he should have a golden ticket because he wants it more than anyone else in the world. Didn't these people want the championship? Why did they give up? I know nothing about football - tactics and all that - but I know that. I really, really wanted it, and that is why, after all these years, I can have it.

There's a lot I don't like about football - the money, the corruption, the homophobia, the thugs like Joey Barton - to the point where I considered giving up on it now that the pain of my childhood had been erased. But that would be throwing the baby out with the bath water - you can't just ignore the joy that comes when those negatives are overcome. So I'm afraid I'm City 'til I die.

Hmm, too much introspection. Let's have a fashion parade. Way back last year I detailed two of the City kits I had as a boy. Here are the kits currently in my possession:

Ah, this is an old favourite of mine - the replica of the 1969 FA cup winning shirt. Had this years. Was a lot thinner when I first got it. Little bit tight now (harrumph).

Hmm, not sure what season this one's from, but at least it still fits.

Kappa away kit from 1999. I think they must have worn this twice at most because (and I'm not an expert here) having blue in your home and away kit means it's not much use as a change strip. Most of the time they used that blue and fluorescent yellow striped thing that starred in the play-off final against Gillingham. You know, this one:

Yes, my friends. Never forget that Sergio Aguero is the modern day Paul Dickov!

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